Two Short Stories

Barn Burning

This short (very very short) story I wrote in a writing circle. I know that lately I have done a lot of poetry and short stories. I promise the more bloggy posts haven’t totally disappeared. Part of it is a lack of time and energy to do a lot of writing, so mostly I am posting stuff that I’ve written recently, ie the last month.

It was an odd sort of summer, the summer of ’34. Hotter than most, and drier than any summer in remembrance. Inhospitable for most any living thing for a hundred miles. Except turtles. There were millions of those goddamn land turtles. People would try to knock the turtles of the road with their cars on their way into town. Not that town was much to talk about, especially during hot summers like these. Quiet; like a ghost town. Folks just didn’t want to haul their asses into town when every third person got heat stroke steppin’ outta the house. There was a barn in town. Probably the oldest building in the county. It had been out of commission for over 25 years, so the mayor deemed the barn to be used for storage. In the summer months they kept Fourth of July supplies in the decrepit barn. People for years to come never agreed what started the fire, some say it was ruffians playing a trick, others say it was just bad luck. But everyone agrees on one thing—it was the best display of fireworks the town had ever seen.

Window Seat

Dedicated to the man sitting next to me in the airplane going home from spring break.

Sitting on the plane, waiting for it to take off. People are shuffling around me, asking each other questions: “Is there room up there? Can you put my jacket up there? Isn’t that my seat? Can you help me? Where’s my book? Did you forget anything (too late now)? Have you turned off your cell phone?

I’m traveling alone. I have no one to ask me those questions. I’m shy so I don’t mind.

As people start to settle into their seats, a woman sits next to me. She smells sweet—like honeysuckle and lemon. I shift away from her in my seat and turn to face the window. I can feel her staring at the back of my head—I fell the heat her eyes must have, her soft breath against my neck. We are close. Too close. She’s not shy. But I’m shy and I scoot towards the window, my knees banging against the side of the plane. I hear sit back—perhaps giving up on introducing herself. I decidedly stay turned towards the window.

The plane takes off and the earth shrinks below us. I sit quietly, trying to make as little movement or noise as possible. It is an average plane ride. It smells like old upholstery and stale rolls, people’s hushed conversations can be heard all around, and of course, there is one kid who has to wail the entire flight, making us all miserable. Yup, pretty standard stuff.

I absent-mindedly grab for the in-flight magazine in the seat pocket in front of me and flip through a few pages, knowing it’s pointless but trying to act natural. Reading the in-flight magazine—or pretending to—was dumb. I shove it back and fold my arms close my eyes.

I shuffle my feet, trying to get comfortable but my leg just ends up brushing against the knee of the woman next to me. I pull away again and open my eyes impulsively. She shifts and I go back to facing the window.

What did I really care? The window didn’t mean anything to me. All that was there was… blue—what did blue matter to me? Nothing, that’s what.

I keep turned to the window the whole flight. When we start our decent, the woman next to me shifts my direction, looking out the window. Under her breath she muttered, “wow”. Quite the sight to see I guess.

After we land, the same bustling occurs as when people were boarding—asking questions like: “Did you get everything? Will you hand me that bag? Have you called your aunt to pick us up yet?” The woman next to me has a short conversation with her dad over the phone.

People are in all sorts of a hurry to get off the plane. I am in no rush. I am patient. Besides, I’d just get in peoples’ way. Such a nuisance. Once every one has left—after the last voice trailed away—I finally turn away from the window, stand up, unfold my cane and walk away. That’s what you get when you give a blind man a window seat.